Pauline turned her beautiful head. "There are marriages for this world; true and honorable marriages, but for this world. But there is a marriage for eternity,--a marriage of souls." Now Myron Sharpe is not a fool, but that is precisely what he said to Miss Pauline Dallas, out in the boat on that September night. If wiser men than Myron Sharpe never uttered more unpardonable nonsense under similar circumstances, cast your stones at him. "Perhaps so," said Miss Dallas, with a sigh; "but see! How dark it has grown while we have been talking. We shall be caught in a squall; but I shall not be at all afraid--with you." They were caught indeed, not only in a squall, but in the steady force of a driving northeasterly storm setting in doggedly with a very ugly fog. If Miss Dallas was not at all afraid--with him, she was nevertheless not sorry when they grated safely on the dull white beach. They had had a hard pull in against the tide. Sky and sea were black. The fog crawled like a ghost over flat and cliff and field. The rain beat upon them as they turned to walk up the beach. Pauline stopped once suddenly. "What was that?" "I heard nothing." "A cry,--I fancied a cry down there in the fog." They went back, and walked down the slippery shore for a space. Miss Dallas took off her hat to listen. "You will take cold," said Dr. Sharpe, anxiously. She put it on; she heard nothing,--she was tired and excited, he said. They walked home together. Miss Dallas had sprained her white wrist, trying to help at the oars; he drew it gently through his arm. It was quite dark when they reached the house. No lamps were lighted. The parlor window had been left open, and the rain was beating in. "How careless in Harrie!" said her husband, impatiently. He remembered those words, and the sound of his own voice in saying them, for a long time to come; he remembers them now, indeed, I fancy, on rainy nights when the house is dark. The hall was cold and dreary. No table was set for supper. The children were all crying. Dr. Sharpe pushed open the kitchen door with a stern face. "Biddy! Biddy! what does all this mean? Where is Mrs. Sharpe?" "The Lord only knows what it manes, or where is Mrs. Sharpe," said Biddy, sullenly. "It's high time, in me own belafe, for her husband to come ashkin' and inquirin' her close all in a hape on the floor upstairs, with her bath-dress gone from the nails, and the front door swingin',--me never findin' of it out till it cooms tay-time, with all the children cryin' on me, and me head shplit with the noise, and--"